“So”—I force a small shrug, like it’s just a funny coincidence—“you don’t have to be embarrassed. We’re even.”
That’s why I told her.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
There’s a beat.
A long one.
Then something in Emma’s face closes, just shuts down like she’s no longer open for business.
Not the reaction I expected.
I thought she’d laugh.
Roll her eyes.
Tell me we’re both idiots for mapping out our lives with so much certainty at such a young age.
My confession was meant to comfort her. Instead, I think it did the opposite.
She reaches for the plate, taking it from my hands. “Thanks for the cake. My parents will love it.” Grabbing the door, she pulls it toward her, forcing me to step back.
“Happy birthday,” I say, a lame attempt at ending the conversation before her door shuts.
A second later, the engine starts. She backs out of the driveway without looking at me again. I stand there for a second, watching her taillights disappear down the street.
I exhale slowly as I turn back toward the condo, watching my feet as I walk.
It’s stupid. We were fifteen. Kids say all kinds of things when they’re that age, like how they’re going to be in the NFL or a billionaire.
But Emma thought she was going to marry me.
And I thought I was going to marry her.
Twelve years later, I’m walking back inside to a different woman.
I probably should leave it there.
But for some reason, my mind can’t.
I’m hung up on how neither one of us got it right when we were so sure of it.
EMMA
10th Grade - November
I have a system.
It’s a very good system.
It involves three specific hallways, one alternate stairwell, and a strict no-eye-contact policy that I have followed with impressive consistency since last April.
Because here’s the thing: Vinny and Juliet have been dating for seven months.
Seven. Months.
And now it’s fall, which means this is no longer a “summer fling” that lasted the first few weeks of the new school year. This is a real relationship. A disturbingly stable one. And I am handling it very well by avoiding Vinny completely.